


Like Toasted Marshmallows

by thisprentiss



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, also if u review i will love u forever pls know that my gay lil soul is fed by validation, mmkay why is the beastsilver tag just as empty as my brain during finals i dont understand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7108000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisprentiss/pseuds/thisprentiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro reminds Hank of a lot of his favorite things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Toasted Marshmallows

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends pietro and hank are very Gay for eachother  
> pietro looks like this in this fic bc i'm super self centered and love my own hc for what he looks like (http://slvrhvk.tumblr.com/post/145282182965/the-twins-rlly-want-to-know-when-theyll-be)  
> also if u leave me a review i will love u forever! i'm sorry my writing is like this but i had an idea and i wrote it FAST!

In the warm glow of the sunset, sitting outside the school on the grass, Pietro reminded Hank of toasted marshmallows.

The way his white-blonde hair fell over brown shoulders kissed by darker freckles, the way the pale marks of vitiligo contrasted with dark skin on his face, honey-colored eyes lazily staring out at the horizon. He was dressed in a creme colored sweater Raven had loaned him, which hung loose off his frame, and Hank wanted nothing more than to plant gentle kisses across the delicate collarbone that the neckline of the sweater didn't quite cover.

There was a soft hand lying on top of his, warm and comforting, Pietro's thumb rubbing circles into the back of Hank's hand. Neither of them were talking much, just staring; Pietro's eyes locked on the sunset, Hank's on his boyfriend's profile against the sky.

If Pietro hadn't named the title of every song that came on the radio sitting behind them, Hank would've had no idea what was playing. _Sweet Love, Anita Baker._ That's what Pietro had told him when the music first came on. Hank had never been very good with knowing modern music, nor had he ever really _liked_ modern music. But watching Pietro nod his head ever so slightly to the rhythm of the song, lips ghosting over lyrics every so often... he could really get used to it.

_God_ he was so in love. And it felt so strange to say that. Pietro was ten years Hank's minor; despite the fact that he was twenty eight years old, it still took Hank a long time to stop thinking about the fact that when he was eighteen Pietro was only seven. It made him feel like an old man.

"We should head in. Professor hates when we're out after dark."

That was Pietro's voice, not bothering to put on the exaggerated American accent he usually did around other people. That was one of the things that made Hank's heart leap with joy every time he heard a sentence spill out of Pietro's mouth with the soft tones of his Transian accent. He felt _comfortable_ around Hank. Comfortable enough to let himself be _himself_ , not the carefully crafted version of himself that he let other people see. He let Hank know his birth name. Where he grew up. Why he wore the gold Star of David necklace all the time.

"You got it," Hank nodded, leaning over to press a kiss into Pietro's temple. It was a spot he always kissed; he'd been told it was comforting. "I'll grab the radio if you grab the blanket."

"Sounds like a plan," Pietro smiled, standing up with Hank and squeezing his hand. "You're cute."

Hank was leaned half way over, picking up the radio, and he was glad that Pietro couldn't see him blushing. "Not as cute as you." It was a natural response, one that he still meant seriously even after saying it hundreds of times. "Raven tell you we have danger room at eight tomorrow? I can wake you up if you want. I know it freaks you out when the professor does the brain wakeup call."

Pietro rolled his eyes, blanket hugged to his chest, "Eight in the morning is too early to function. Yes. Please wake me up."

They started the trek back toward the school slowly, something Pietro had learned to do around Hank. He'd never noticed how nice it was to go slow until he was going slow with someone he loved. Hank reached a thin hand back down to grab Pietro's, and he felt it being squeezed in return. "I love you, Pietro, you know that, right?"

"I love you too, Hank. Even when you butcher my name." Hank knew he was saying it jokingly, but that didn't stop him from feeling bad. "Don't worry. You'll get it eventually. Besides, it's... it's nice to know that you're trying. And I can see you blushing, you nerd."

"Shut up," he muttered, cheeks only growing hotter. Pietro let his head drop to rest on Hank's shoulder as they walked, hand squeezing tighter. The last of the sunset illuminated their way up the steps and through the back door into the kitchen, finally fading out as they reached Hank's bedroom. "I'm gonna shower before we go to bed, alright?" he asked, and Pietro nodded from his place on the bed, burying his face into the pillows.

Hank took a short shower, as he always did, and spent a few minutes in the bathroom combing his hair and brushing his teeth and taking his meds. The steam and wet heat that hung in the air was dissipating by the time he finally opened the door back into his room, and he stopped short when he saw Pietro asleep by the window.

He'd clearly been staring at the stars, changed into his pajamas, dark shorts and a dark shirt. The moonlight reflected off his face and created a glowing halo around his white hair; he looked utterly beautiful. Hank used his towel to dry off his hair once more, and set his glasses on the nightstand before walking back to where Pietro had fallen asleep. His mouth was hanging open ever so slightly, even breaths making his shoulders rise and fall slowly. Hank picked him up as carefully as he could, one arm under his knees and the other supporting his back, and carried him toward the bed.

Pressed against his chest, Hank could feel Pietro's erratic heartbeat that used to make him so nervous. But now it was almost a comfort. He kissed his head as he laid him down in bed, brushing several strands of white hair out of his eyes. The moonlight still reached him at this angle, and Hank almost stood up to close the curtains. Then he paused, staring. Freckles were like stars, patches of vitiligo like galaxies.

In the white light streaming through the windows, lying in bed, Pietro reminded Hank of the night sky.


End file.
